


As First Times Go

by Squoxie



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, So many emotions oh my god, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26484619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squoxie/pseuds/Squoxie
Summary: Ciaran breaks the kiss, breath soft and halting. “Is this… alright?” he asks. He leans his head forward, knocks their foreheads together gently, and Cedric smiles, weary but fond.“It’s more than alright,” he murmurs. “Touch me however you like. And tell me what you want, what you wish for. Please. For this evening, in this moment, let us exist together, away from the rest of the world. That’s all I ask.”
Relationships: Cedric/Ciaran aep Easnillien
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	As First Times Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thechemicalgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechemicalgirl/gifts), [gridelinCarver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gridelinCarver/gifts).



> Aaand there's another one! This one is technically set in an RP I did which was very sad and angsty in wonderful ways, which is why it's, well, sad at points. It be like that. 
> 
> I am incapable of writing smut without feelings, it would seem.
> 
> All one needs know is really that Ciaran came across Cedric after Cedric left the Scoia'tael, Cedric is somewhat drunk, and they spend the night together before they must part in the morning ;3

The kiss is sweet and lovely and warm. The hands sliding over skin trail fires in their wake, sends shivers down his spine, and Cedric arches into the touch, into Ciaran’s deft fingers. This is good. A distraction for both of them, a distraction from the heavy truths that have been shared. New memories created, to reminisce about when lonely and sad.

The kiss tastes faintly of salt. There have been so many tears, there will be more. But now, now Cedric wants to focus on this and only this. He wants to focus on the way Ciaran touches him, on the way his own fingers trace mindless shapes in Ciaran’s soft, warm skin. He wants to focus on the blossoming heat within, on Ciaran. Precious, sweet Ciaran, so confused, so concerned. Cedric has been such a fool, wanting to not cause harm, and in the end doing just that.

Ciaran breaks the kiss, breath soft and halting. “Is this… alright?” he asks. He leans his head forward, knocks their foreheads together gently, and Cedric smiles, weary but fond.

“It’s more than alright,” he murmurs. “Touch me however you like. And tell me what you want, what you wish for. Please. For this evening, in this moment, let us exist together, away from the rest of the world. That’s all I ask.”

Ciaran’s answering smile is tremulous, but genuine. He kisses Cedric again, then huffs, wrinkling his nose and sticking his tongue out, teasing, trying to hide uncertainty.

“Vodka tastes awful,” the younger elf tells him. Cedric, taking it as the gentle teasing it is meant to be, smiles wryly. He agrees, at that. But he can’t really do much about the fact that he probably both smells and tastes like the alcohol without taking an extended bath and sleeping it off, and… he’d rather not. Because he wants to stay with Ciaran. Because he doesn’t want to be sober.

“What are you thinking about?” Ciaran asks.

“Nothing of import,” Cedric replies. “You’re welcome to make me forget.”

Ciaran tilts his head, again a bit uncertain, and Cedric presses a kiss to his jaw before falling back into the soft grass, offering him a heated look and another, soft smile. The implicit invitation makes Ciaran swallow, even as he straddles Cedric proper, touches a hand to Cedric’s bare chest as if to check he is really there. Cedric leans his head back, eyes closing, and he hums under his breath as he feels Ciaran’s hand following up along his throat, to caress his jaw and cheek, to ever so gently trace the edge of his ear. It sends shivers down his spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ciaran mumbles, and Cedric laughs. He knows Ciaran means it, can understand why, but he doesn’t feel beautiful. Not as he is now. He’s getting too thin, too drawn and tired to really qualify as ‘beautiful’. But then, he supposes beauty is more than skin deep.

“Don’t laugh. You are,” Ciaran admonishes him, and Cedric opens his eyes to give the younger elf a fond, warm look. Upon being faced with a mulish pout, he brings his arms up to pull Ciaran close, kissing the pout away, lips pressing carefully together. A soft kiss. Gentle, warm. Without haste, giving time to feel the shift of sensitive skin, to impart just how much emotion Cedric is feeling for all this.

Ciaran makes a sound more akin to a whimper than anything, content with the soft kiss for a few moments before deepening it, pressing close to Cedric. He’s so warm, so wonderfully comfortingly warm, and Cedric relishes in it, in the way it chases away the pervasive cold of his own skin. In the way it sets heat gathering further down.

Ciaran notices. Unsurprising, with how close their bodies are, but it still makes the younger elf’s cheeks flare with pink. Cedric’s faint amusement must show on his face, because a moment later, cheeks flaring even further, Ciaran grinds down into him with intent. He moans softly under his breath, the friction teasing in the most wonderful of ways. He wonders, briefly, how far Ciaran will want to go, how involved, but sends the thought away. He’s comfortable going as far as Ciaran wants, and so he shall simply see to where the younger elf leads.

Another kiss, and then Ciaran starts licking and nipping along Cedric’s tattoo, from the highest leaf under his jaw to his shoulder and arm. A careful but firm bite makes him groan, arching into it. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he feels more alive now than he has for a while. Awake.

He rolls them over, delights in Ciaran’s startled huff and pink cheeks. Sits himself up so he is straddling Ciaran’s lap proper, leaning just enough to make contact, to grind and press and shift. He smiles, biting his lower lip and giving a moan under his breath when Ciaran moves his hips in response, seeking touch, seeking friction. The younger elf looks absolutely mesmerised, staring up at Cedric as if he holds answers to some great something. Or, perhaps, simply as if he loves Cedric, and Cedric loves him.

Cedric trembles. How selfish he is. How selfish, to take the love Ciaran offers, only to then turn him away. One night. For Ciaran? Or for himself? He just misses touch so very much, misses another warm body, misses  _ love. _

“Cedric,” Ciaran says softly, reaching up to trace his cheekbone with a finger. “Do you want to stop?”

Cedric shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “No, I am simply… a bit overwhelmed.”

Ciaran hesitates, then shifts and sits up to draw Cedric into a warm embrace, pressing a kiss to the underside of Cedric’s jaw. “That’s alright,” he mumbles. “I am too.”

Cedric makes a soft sound under his breath, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Ciaran reads him easily, continuing to place gentle kisses up along his jaw, then rocking his hips as well, slow and gentle and wonderful. Cedric swallows, allowing himself to feel how good it is, trying to shove away the worry and uncertainty. This time is theirs, to do whatever they feel for.

Ciaran draws him into a kiss, slips his tongue between Cedric’s lips, and Cedric moans, allowing Ciaran free reign, simply letting himself be swept away by it. He ends up on his back again somehow, Ciaran’s weight holding him in place like a warm, heavy blanket, and he feels  _ safe _ . It’s so wonderfully comforting.

“I…” Ciaran starts, pauses, and just breathes for a moment. “If I asked you to— to fuck me…”

Cedric’s lips twitch into a smile, amused at the instant flush of pink across Ciaran’s cheeks. He would love to, but… he’s nowhere near coordinated, isn’t even certain he’s seeing straight all the time. Regretfully, he shakes his head.

“I don’t have the control right now, not enough coordination. I could hurt you,” he clarifies. “But I would very much like it the other way around. If you wish.”

Ciaran chews on his lip, something almost shy to his gaze, and he swallows. “I would like that. I just… I have never… what if  _ I  _ hurt you, though?”

Cedric chuckles, craning his neck so he can kiss the tip of Ciaran’s nose. “That I don’t trust myself to do it doesn’t mean I don’t remember. I will tell you how if you need it. Somehow, I doubt it’ll be necessary,” he teases, shifts his hips up in a rolling motion. The resulting sound from Ciaran, a breathy moan, makes him smile.

“Um, do you have anything for…?” Ciaran drifts off, not quite embarrassed, but not quite comfortable speaking frankly. Cedric finds it somehow endearing, and he gives a chuckle that turns into a groan as Ciaran pointedly grinds down. It’s so good.

“There’s a— a small pot of grease,” he breathes. “In my satchel. For various things.”

Ciaran kisses him again, before reluctantly drawing away to look through Cedric’s satchel, to find the little pot. Cedric takes the chance to get his trousers off, wriggling out of them and kicking them away, sighing with relief and desire as he strokes his freed erection. Ciaran visibly swallows, looking at him, gaze heated and wanting with just a smidgen of uncertainty. A small, almost sly smile dances on Cedric’s lips, and he spreads his legs in invitation.

“Well?” he says, awaiting, teasing, and Ciaran licks his lips, moves closer. He settles between Cedric’s legs, setting the pot of grease down, and strokes his palms along the insides of Cedric’s thighs, warm and firm. Cedric gives a long, pleased sigh, then pouting when Ciaran’s thumbs barely brush the most sensitive of his skin, enough to tease, before drawing his hands back. Blunt nails scrape along Cedric’s inner thighs, however, and he shudders with a breathless moan.

Ciaran smiles crookedly, lids lowered halfway over his eyes, and he traces patterns into Cedric’s skin with light fingers, watching every little jump of muscles that Cedric can’t control. His gaze is focused and intense, and it makes Cedric squirm, short of breath.

A finger brushes between his legs,  _ finally _ , and Cedric makes a little whine at the back of his throat, hitching his hips up. He wants… he  _ wants _ .

“You’ve always been so patient about everything,” Ciaran comments, a playful lilt to his voice. “It’s… strange, somehow, that you aren’t now.”

“ _ Ciaran _ ,” Cedric protests. Ciaran’s deft, wonderful fingers slide up to the underside of his balls before withdrawing entirely, Ciaran biting at his lower lip and swallowing thickly. Nowhere near as unaffected as he pretends to be, something Cedric can tell even without seeing the way Ciaran’s cock is straining against the front of his trousers. But gods, screw  _ patience _ , he wants to be filled, wants to feel the glorious stretch and heat.

“Are you sure?” Ciaran asks, playfulness toned down for genuine concern as he opens the pot of grease, smears it over his fingers.

“Yes,” Cedric breathes, tilting his hips up. “ _ Please _ , Ciaran.”

Ciaran licks his lips, and then, finally, finally, he moves his hand between Cedric’s legs, rubs the pad of a finger to the ring of muscle there, and slips it inside. Cedric makes a breathless, encouraging sound, lashes fluttering. Ciaran is careful, hesitant, but still firm, pushing his finger inside at a perfect pace. Cedric wonders if he has touched himself, with those clever fingers.

“Okay?” Ciaran asks, a lovely sheen of pink across his cheeks and ears as he gently pushes and pulls, as he curls his finger and makes Cedric twist in place.

“Mm, very— very much so,” Cedric manages. “You can add another.”

“What— already?” Ciaran blinks, and Cedric laughs, so infinitely fond of lovely, kind Ciaran.

“Already,” he affirms. “I — ah — I prefer this, in truth. Am used to it. Know what I— what I like.”

Ciaran’s flushed cheeks grow even more so, even as curiosity sparks in his eyes, and he carefully adds another finger. Cedric gives a long, drawn-out moan, enjoying the new stretch. His erection aches to be touched, but he refrains, wants to enjoy  _ Ciaran’ _ s touch, how it makes his head hazy in an entirely different way to the vodka. In a much better way.

“How… many people have you been with?” Ciaran asks, before he abruptly splutters. “I— I mean— that’s not my business!”

Cedric rocks his hips into Ciaran’s fingers, giving an amused huff. “Many,” he answers, not at all bothered. “So many I can’t— can’t really remember. Oh gods, there, right there,  _ yes _ …”

Ciaran swallows, curling his fingers, brushing the nerves that makes stars flash across Cedric’s sight. He trembles, head thrown back, wanting nothing more than to feel this good forever, wanting nothing more than to feel  _ even better _ , to feel Ciaran’s hard flesh pry him open in the best possible way.

“Fuck me,” he says breathlessly. “I  _ need _ — I need you in me, I need to feel you.”

“Is this enough though? I don’t want to hurt you…” Ciaran protests, and Cedric nods fervently. 

“You won’t hurt me, I promise, just— please—  _ now _ .”

Ciaran chews on his lip, eyes bright, and he retrieves his fingers, removes his trousers with a hiss as his erection is freed. And what a lovely sight it is, too, elegantly curved, flushed pink. Cedric swallows, his mouth dry, and he  _ wants.  _ Ciaran takes more of the grease, lashes fluttering as he applies it to his hard cock, breath short. Then, meeting Cedric’s eyes, he positions himself properly.

“Are you—”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Cedric says, pushing up to the blunt pressure.

Ciaran presses inside, and Cedric moans so loudly it echoes in his own skull. He’s stretched open over Ciaran’s hot flesh, deeper and deeper, a slow, firm press that makes him arch his back, makes him fold his legs around Ciaran, pulling him closer, deeper,  _ more _ . It’s every bit as marvellous, as glorious, as he expected, and he almost shakes with it.

Ciaran groans, flushed and breathless, expression somewhere between desire and utter awe. “You— I—” he stammers, before giving up on words and just bending down to give Cedric a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. Cedric licks into his mouth, grasps at his shoulders, and rolls his hips to coax Ciaran somehow even deeper, Cedric’s own erection pressing into the firm plane of Ciaran’s abdomen.

“Move,” he says hoarsely, and Ciaran nods almost dazedly, rocking up into him. Cedric kisses his nose, loving the gentleness – and how, truly, could it be anything but gentle when it is Ciaran? – but also desperately wanting  _ more _ .

“More, please,” he asks. “I won’t— I won’t fall apart… you know.”

Ciaran laughs softly, resting their foreheads together for a moment. “I know,” he mumbles. “Just— overwhelmed.”

Ah, but of course. Cedric strokes a hand over Ciaran’s back, gentle, smiling at him. “When you’re comfortable then,” he replies. “Don’t mind me, I get… get a bit demanding. Take it at your pace.”

Ciaran kisses him, this time slow and sweet, grinding up into Cedric, who moans into the kiss, meeting every motion with a roll of his own hips. It’s such a wonderful stretch, heat spreading throughout his entire body. It’s grounding, somehow. He’s here, now, there  _ is  _ only the here and now, with him, with Ciaran, with the two of them together, as together as it is possible to  _ be _ .

Ciaran pulls out just a bit, and thrusts back inside, a careful, slow motion, and Cedric groans, lifting his hips, pleading wordlessly for more of the same. Ciaran, a bit more confident, acquiesces, getting into a slow but firm rhythm, punctuated by huffs of air and small whimpering moans from them both. It’s… comfortable. A comfortable pace, a slow building of passion and heat.

“Do you want…?” Ciaran drifts off breathlessly, seemingly not entirely certain what he’s asking, and Cedric smiles.

“What do  _ you  _ want?” he asks instead.

Ciaran gives him a pointed look, rather diminished by the constant pink flush of his cheeks and the hazy lust in his eyes. “I want… to know what you want.”

Cedric almost snorts, amused and fond. But Ciaran seems to have found his equilibrium now, and so maybe…

“Harder, then, more,” he requests. “If it’s alright.”

Ciaran nods, something almost determined coming over his expression. It’s absolutely endearing, but Cedric isn’t given much time to note that, because Ciaran’s next thrust is firm and deep, and Cedric gasps a moan. “Oh  _ yes _ !”

“Good?” Ciaran asks, a rather redundant question, but Cedric nods eagerly, digs his fingers into Ciaran’s back. He loudly makes his pleasure known as Ciaran continues with the new pace, firm thrusts jolting Cedric and making him writhe and whimper. And, wonderfully, Ciaran reacts to Cedric’s obvious enjoyment by growing more confident, changing up the pace, changing the angle, trying, it seems, to make Cedric a complete wreck.

One particular change of angle, and Cedric sees stars when Ciaran’s cock rubs directly up to the spot of nerves inside him, making him shudder and cry out, his skin too tight, his limbs tingling. It’s so good. So amazingly, wonderfully good. And the pressure in his abdomen, the tight, building pleasure, it builds and builds and builds, and-

“I’m so— so  _ close _ ,” he gasps. “Ciaran— oh,  _ Ciaran _ , it’s so—”

“I— I— so  _ good _ — _ ”  _ Ciaran moans, just about as gone as Cedric is, the rhythm of his hips faltering, thrusts now fast and shallow and chasing the high, chasing the release.

Cedric slips his hand between them to stroke at his own cock, and with a few strokes, a deliciously hard thrust straight to the nerves inside him, he comes with a loud whine, eyes almost rolling back in his head. His muscles seize up, tight, tight, before he then feels absolutely boneless, barely aware of Ciaran coming inside him with a whimpering moan.

“Oh,” Ciaran breathes, and slumps down on Cedric, looking entirely windblown.

Cedric manages a soft, weary laugh, shifting so they’re both lying comfortably, and presses a kiss to Ciaran’s cheek. “Thank you,” he says. For caring. For this. For not giving up on Cedric, even when Cedric has given up on himself.

Ciaran snuggles closer, closing his eyes. “…I won’t ever forget you,” he mumbles. “You know that, right? Not because of this, even if it was— I don’t even know how to describe it. Wonderful. But I won’t forget you because you’re  _ you _ . So… so don’t forget me either, Cedric? Please?”

Cedric’s smile turns faintly bittersweet, and he pulls a hand over Ciaran’s hair. “I won’t. I couldn’t possibly manage to forget you, Ciaran. Regardless of where our paths end… I will carry memories of our times together in my heart. Always.”

Ciaran nods slightly, clearly not intending to move anywhere, and Cedric blinks back the tears threatening to well in his eyes. They should get cleaned up, dress before they get cold, but… but he has no wish to move either. Not yet. So for now, remaining curled in each other’s arms, that’s good.

Once the morning comes, they’ll part, each to their own. But for now… for now they’re together. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna hang out and nerd over your favourite Witcher characters (whether minor characters as I obsess over, or more major ones x3) in a friendly LGBT+ space? Come join us! https://discord.gg/8M79ymR


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